Brutality
by Ericka Jane
Summary: To Dean the only way to die is in a hunt protecting your family. Dying in a backwoods bar parking lot is not acceptable. Pre-series. Hurt!Dean. Not a death!fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was inspired by a scene in "The Walking Dead," and no, it has nothing to do with zombies.

Special thanks to: _Scribble2Much_, who was nice enough to look this over for me and give me some input. Thank you so much!

Warnings: language, **violence**, angst, and uh, crying. Yeah.

Timeline: Pre-series: Sam's 17-ish and Dean's 21-ish.

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**Brutality **

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Sam scoots down lower in the booth and grimaces as his jeans stick to the ripped vinyl. Backwoods bars are weird in the sense that they're all the same. They all have more cigarette smoke in the air than actual oxygen, more peanut shells on the floor than dirt, and more beer on the seats than in actual mugs. So when Sam moves he inevitably grinds and cracks some shells on the ground, and sticks to tacky alcohol. If it weren't for the fact that he's watching his brother's back, he'd have been outta here hours ago.

Sam huffs. The shit he puts up with for Dean. Speaking of…

Sam glances over to the pool table casually, assessing the situation. Dean's leaning over the pool table with a hidden, cocky grin on his face. This is the third and last game that he's playing, and it's time to really reel in the dough. Sam just hopes he manages to do it without pissing someone off. Sometimes Sam thinks that's half of why Dean loves doing this so much. He's never really understood it but Dean loves being a hunter, in every sense of the word. Right now his prey is the poor schmuck that is (hopefully) unaware that he's being hustled. Behind Dean, three of the schmuck's friends watch the game, making comments that Sam can't hear as they drink their beer. If this goes south Dean could very well be stuck in a bad situation and he knows it. That's the other thing about hunting that Sam thinks Dean loves; the danger. He likes the adrenaline, the challenge, the thrill. And that's what always scares Sam.

Sam's not big on hunting. He doesn't like being uprooted every month, doesn't like being in danger all the time, and he doesn't like seeing his family get hurt. He just wants to know what it feels like to have a legitimate house that he comes home to every day, and sleeps in every night. He wants to know what it feels like to have friends and go through an entire school year at the same school. Normal. Safe. That's all he wants. Now that he's older and is _this_ close to graduating, he wants it even more. He wants it so much that he knows he's going to leave. Sam swallows and looks back at Dean, who's leaning against the pool cue and smirking. Dean doesn't know about that yet.

Sam shakes his head and goes back to his book, trying to focus on the words and not the clock. Sam shifts again, rolling his eyes as his jeans lift off the bench seat with a Velcro-esque sound. Then he hears the indistinguishable sound of glass breaking. Instantly, Sam's eyes are drawn to the pool tables. The schmuck that Dean was hustling has him by the shirt collar and his goonies are crowding the two of them, like hyenas coming in for the kill. Sam can see the brown shards of a beer bottle smashed on the pool table. A closer glance tells him that Schmuck has the jagged bottle neck in his hand, a makeshift weapon that he's apparently planning on using on his big brother.

Sam scrambles out of the booth in record time, cursing himself for not keeping closer tabs on the hustle. He uses his long legs to his advantage and crosses the bar in no time flat. Once there, he twists Schumuck's shirt collar in his hand and yanks hard. The move takes Schmuck by surprise and he releases Dean, giving Dean the chance to recover and fend off the Hyenas. Schmuck loses his balance from being tugged and stumbles backwards into Sam. The broken beer bottle neck falls to the ground and breaks. Schmuck whips around. His face is red and his eyes are wild, blazing in fury as he glares at Sam. Behind Schmuck, Sam can see Dean throwing the first punch towards one of the Hyenas.

"Not a smart move, kid," Schmuck taunts threateningly, preparing to close in on Sam's defensive position.

Sam doesn't respond to the baiting. Instead, he focuses his attention on his enemy's moves and attempts to map out any potential attacks.

The sound of a shotgun cocking halts everything.

Everyone looks towards the sound and is faced with the bar tender, who's aiming a freshly loaded shotgun at the group.

"Talk a walk, boys," He warns. The gun is steady in his hands but his glare is even steadier. "Now. Before I call the cops."

Sam and Dean exchange looks and then slowly maneuver themselves away from the men, staying alert in case someone decides to lash out.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean grunts, eying Schmuck as Sam walks in front of him. Schmuck's near inhuman glare never leaves Dean's gaze.

Dean makes Sam walk in front of him and out the door. Dean follows and makes sure to give a final one-finger-salute to the bar before the door slams shut behind them. The cold night is a welcome reprieve from the hot, dirty bar, and Sam takes a second to breathe it in before starting in on his brother.

"Damnit, Dean! Why do you _always_ have to piss people off?" Sam demands as he stalks across the gravel parking lot to the waiting Impala.

Dean scoffs, "I didn't piss anyone off, Sammy. Dude was just a sore loser. Not my fault he couldn't play pool for shit."

"You're telling me that you didn't say _anything_ to make him mad?" Sam's tone clearly indicates disbelief.

They're now on their respective sides of the car, Dean on the driver's side and Sam on the passenger's, staring at each other from over the roof of the Impala.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Dean replies with a shit eating grin.

Sam glares and opens his door, "You're unbelievable."

"Look on the bright side, Sammy," Dean says as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a wad of green, "We're up six hundred bucks."

Sam rolls his eyes and tries to hide a small smile as he ducks inside the car. That's his stupid big brother: walks into a bar, hustles some jackass, pisses off said jackass, and then walks back out like the smug bastard he is, crowing over his winnings.

In his musings, Sam reaches over to pull his door shut. He gets his hand on the door handle and pulls, but he's met with resistance.

"Sam!" Dean's shout is a warning with more than just a hint of panic. It's enough to send Sam's heart rate through the roof.

Sam looks over and sees that it's a hand preventing the door from shutting, and said hand is now reaching inside to pull him out of the car.

"Son of a bitch," Sam hears Dean grunt, followed by the sound of a fist hitting a face.

Sam struggles, using his legs to try and hook himself into the car. The person who has a hold of his shirt and arm yanks hard, making Sam fall out of the car and kiss the dirt ground. Before he even has the chance to process what just happened, he's being pulled back up onto his knees. He tries to regain his footing so that he can attempt to get the upper hand, but he's shoved right back down into place. Someone reaches out and strikes him hard across the face for his troubles. Sam can feel his lip split from the punch, followed by the warm blood that dribbles down his chin. He spits, removing the substance from his mouth. Sam looks up, still pulling against the hands that have him captive, and comes face to face with the pack of Hyenas from the bar.

It now occurs to Sam that two of them have hold of his arms and shoulders, and that's why he's not having much luck getting up. Another one, the one who just hit him, is standing in front of him off to the side, giving him just enough room to see what's going on with Dean.

Dean's fighting Schmuck, who Sam should probably start thinking of as Beast, because that's what he really is. He isn't all that big, maybe a bit broader than Dean, but it's his palpable and savage rage that makes his size. Schmuck's intent is nothing less than obvious and it has Sam absolutely terrified.

Schmuck charges Dean like a battering ram, sending them both to the ground. Dean hits the dirt hard; Sam can see him gasp for air as the wind gets knocked outta him. While Dean struggles to re-set his breathing, Schmuck pins Dean and looks down on him with a mixture of victory and glee. Then he pulls back his fist.

Sam struggles, feeling the panic building up higher and higher in his chest. His lungs tighten and his eyes water, "_Dean_!"

The hands on his arms and shoulders tighten to a bruising grip as they push down. Sam's not going anywhere. Dean's struggling too, attempting to dislodge Schmuck even though his knees are pinning Dean's arms, and he's in the wrong position for Dean to lock his legs around him. Sam and Dean are both well and truly trapped.

"Lemme go!" Sam demands, pulling against the Hyenas' hold, "Dean!"

Schmuck lands a punch, then another, and another, and another, again and again, over and over. Dean's face is quickly turning into an indistinguishable smudge of red as Schmuck's fists relentlessly pummel his features. It's more than a fight; it's a beating, a punishment, something that Sam would expect to see in prison or a gang initiation. Even with the distance between them, Sam can hear bones and cartilage breaking and cracking in Dean's face. Blood is splattered in the dirt around his head.

Sam's yelling, trying desperately to twist away from the restraining hands as he's forced to watch the cruel thrashing, "Stop! Please, stop!"

Dean's not moving, Sam can tell. His head is snapping back and forth with the force of the blows, but he's out. Sam's caught between being terrified of the implications of Dean's unconsciousness, and thankful that Dean can't feel it any more.

"Please_,_" Sam pleads with another weak tug against the hands, "Let him go. _Please_, let him go!"

The salt from his tears are stinging the cut on his mouth; snot is starting to run from his nose and his top lip from the cold and crying. The hits keep coming and Sam is absolutely powerless and useless in the attack against his brother.

Dean's going to die. Oh God, Schmuck is going to literally beat Dean to death, or into a level four coma. And Sam has to watch, knowing that he did nothing to stop it.

A shotgun blast is what finally ends it. The hands that were holding his arms let go and Sam almost face plants for a second time. He quickly steadies himself and then half crawls, half scrambles over to his fallen sibling. Schmuck is still standing over Dean and Sam has no idea who shot the shotgun, but he really doesn't care. Right now he cares about _Dean_ and making sure he's alive.

"Dean!" Sam cries as he crawls up to his brother's side, staring in horror at Dean's mangled face, "Oh my God."

Dean's a wreck. His nose is visibly broken; his face is a giant mass of blood, cuts, and already dark bruises. His right cheek looks like it might be shattered and his lips are swollen and split.

His shaking fingers reach up and press against Dean neck, and Sam sobs out of sheer relief when he finds a steady _thump thump thump_. He has the urge to hold Dean's face in his hands and press their foreheads together, like Dean used to do when Sam was young and scared. He's scared to touch the damage though, so he settles for clenching Dean's tee shirt in his hands and laying his forehead on Dean's sternum. Sam feels the rise and fall of Dean's chest with every breath his brother takes. Under normal circumstances, even normal injured circumstances, Sam and Dean aren't clingy or touchy feely. What Sam's doing right now is seriously breaking Winchester code, and if Dean were able to, he'd be bitching about it. But Jesus, Sam really thought he was watching Dean being murdered, and he just needs to be close to him. Just for a minute.

"Ambulance and cops are already on their way." The voice comes from above him, and Sam immediately tenses, curling closer to Dean. "Sorry, about this, kid."

A quick glance upwards tells him that it's the bar tender, the one who scared off Schmuck and the Hyenas. The man looks legitimately sympathetic and worried. Sam nods once and feels his tears smear into Dean's shirt.

"Anyone you need called?" The bar tender asks.

"No," Sam croaks.

Their dad is on a hunt six hours away. Sam will call and leave a message once he's at the hospital, and knows what condition Dean's really in. John probably won't get it until tomorrow anyways.

Sam sees red and blue lights bounce off the cars and the bar as the wail of the ambulance draws near. He curls his fists tighter in Dean's tee shirt. He's not quite willing to separate himself from his brother yet but he knows that he's going to have to, if he wants Dean to be helped. And Christ, does Dean ever need help.

As predicted, the EMTs come and immediately tell Sam that he needs to move. Reluctantly, Sam releases Dean's shirt and moves back, letting the emergency team do their job. He watches as they strap Dean to the stabilizing board. They won't let him ride in the ambulance but Sam's ok with that; he doesn't want to leave the Impala here and he knows Dean will kick his ass if he does. Wiping his face with his sleeve, clearing off the remaining traces of tears, mucus, and blood, Sam gets in the car and follows the ambulance to the hospital.

"_This is John Winchester. Leave a message."_

Beep.

"Dad, it's Sam. We got jumped outside a bar and Dean's in the hospital, and he's…he's pretty messed up. The doctors say he'll be ok but…" Sam sighs, "Just call me when you get this."

He shuts the phone and walks back into Dean's room, wincing as he catches sight of his sibling's face. Severe concussion, broken nose, one LeFort midface fracture, massive swelling, and endless cuts and bruises are the final diagnosis. They were able to reset Dean's nose just fine but the midface fracture required surgery, which Dean is going to be pissed about once he wakes up.

Sam sighs again, feeling exhausted but still too wired to sleep. He sits in the chair that he moved next to the bed and reaches over to grab Dean's hand, holding tight.

Sam's a hunter and it's safe to say that he's seen some scary shit in his life, but he's never been as terrified as he was tonight. Being forced to watch Dean get the life beat out of him, and being helpless to do anything is a hundred times more terrifying than any monster. He's going to be having nightmares about it for the rest of his life. When he closes his eyes he can still see the blood on the ground and Dean's head snapping back and forth with the force of the hits. He can hear Dean's bones breaking. It makes his eyes sting and gut churn. Sam's hand reflexively tightens even further on Dean's. That bastard could've killed Dean, _killed_ him. He almost did.

Sam's breathing hitches and he bites down hard on his lip, cursing himself for feeling the need to cry again. It makes him want to vomit; the idea of his strong and proud big brother, dying helpless and slow in a backwoods parking lot, at the hands of humans. He knows Dean's going to feel humiliated and degraded, which just breaks Sam's heart even more. To Dean, the only way to die is in a hunt protecting your family. Getting your ass handed to you by some bar thugs and almost dying from it is not acceptable.

Sam huffs and uses his free hand to scrub away a few of the tears that has gathered in his eyes. He stares contemplatively at Dean, wondering how much shit he'd get in if he crawled into the hospital bed, and curled around his brother. Probably an infinite amount of shit. He sighs, slouches down in the chair, and decides to settle with keeping an iron grip on Dean's hand while he sleeps.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

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Dean wakes up with the mother of all headaches and with a sweaty hand clamped to his. He grimaces as he blinks awake, wishing that the lights were off. His face feels tight with the tell tale sign of stitches, and as he becomes more aware, he can feel the uncomfortable itch of bandages strapped to the left side of his face. He glances down to his compromised hand. Sam's attached to it like an octopus with both hands wrapped around his and clenched tight. Sam's head is buried in the bed sheets right next to Dean's forearm; Dean can actually feel the soft hair of his brother's head tickling his wrist. He shakes his arm lightly, jostling Sam.

"Sammy," He croaks, and then coughs dryly, which sends burning agony through his entire body, his head especially.

Sam is awake in an instant, "Dean! " Sam stands and manages to keep Dean's hand wrapped in his. "Are you ok?" He asks as he hovers, searching every inch of Dean's face for signs on distress.

"Feels like my face was introduced to a brick a few hundred times," Dean says, wincing as the rough words pull on his injuries, "And my hand's all gross, thanks to you."

"God, Dean. You've been out for days," Sam says as he reaches over Dean and presses the nurse button, "I've been calling dad but he's not answerin' and I wanted to call Bobby but then I decided that'd be stupid, because what's Bobby gonna do? He's half way across the country. But I figured I should tell _someone _and the only reason they did the surgery without dad was because your face was so bad, and…" Sam's breath catches but he keeps rambling, "And the cops keep coming by and I didn't want to tell them anything without talking to you first, but holding them off is getting harder and we can't stay here much longer because of the insurance…"

"Sam, hey, slow down before your head explodes," Dean says slowly, working hard not to pull too much on his injuries.

Dean's getting the feeling he really missed something. Sam doesn't get babbly unless something's really rattled him, and judging by Sam's mile-a-minute-talking, something really shook him up. Dean's just not quite sure what. He knows he's hurt, that much is obvious, but the details are gone and the big picture is sketchy at best. He's just about to ask Sam what exactly happened to him, but a knock on the door cuts him off.

A man pokes his head in. When he sees that Dean's awake his eyes widen slightly and he comes bustling in.

"It's good to see you awake, Mr. Birchman. You took quite the beating," The man says as he shuffles over to the side of Dean's bed, "I'm Dr. Warner, I've been keeping an eye on you. I bet you're ready for some answers, huh son?"

Dean blinks. Dr. Warner reminds him of a mad scientist with his short stature, glasses, and gray bird's nest hair. But the tone in his voice is friendly and gentle, and a quick glance towards Sam tells Dean that his brother is comfortable with the man, so he gives the doctor the benefit of the doubt.

"Yeah, answers would be good."

But it's not the doctor who offers them.

"We were jumped outside of a bar." Sam's voice is small, and Dean recognizes it from when Sam was younger and just waking up from a nightmare. It immediately puts him on edge.

"You ok?" he asks and sweeps his gaze over Sam, looking for signs of injuries. Now that he's looking he can see the fading bruise on Sam's chin and the almost healed cut on his lower lip. It looks like there's also a mark on Sam's temple but his emo hair is making it impossible to get a clear look at it.

"Nothing some Tylenol and a band-aid didn't fix."

"That's up for debate," Dr. Warner chimes in and fixes Sam with a knowing look. Sam glares back.

Dean looks between them, feeling frustration and annoyance well up in him. It feels like he's missing years worth of information and now the doctor knows something he doesn't about Sam, something that Sam's failed to mention.

"But why don't we get back to filling in those gaps, hm? The reason you're missing so much is because of the severe concussion you suffered. It's impossible to tell if you'll get the memories back but from what I gather, that may not be such a bad thing." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam flinch, "Aside from the concussion you came in with a broken nose and a facial fracture, and we repaired both. Of course we tried to minimize the scarring as much as possible but there are no guarantees. Honestly our main priority was and still is the concussion. You got your skull rattled good and that's not to be messed around with. We'll be watching you for the next day or two to be on the safe side."

Sam and Dean share a glance, knowing that it's highly unlikely that they'll be sticking around that long.

" I'm sure your brother can fill you in on the rest. The police will want to speak with you…again," Dr. Warner says and looks at Sam, who ducks his head a bit, "I'll hold them off for a few hours. Sam, don't keep him up long, he needs rest."

Sam throws the doctor a small grateful smile but doesn't say anything. Dr. Warner looks between them once more before he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The silence that follows is heavy.

"Dean…"

"What happened, Sam? And no bullshit this time, I mean it." His glare is less effective with the bandages and a swollen eye, but his big brother voice is working in full force. Sam sighs and falls into the chair next to the bed. He keeps his eyes directed to the right on some spot between the wall and the floor.

"We were jumped outside a bar," Sam says flatly.

"Yeah, I got that much, so what aren't you telling me?"

Sam swallows. How's he supposed to explain this? How's he supposed to tell Dean that he almost got the life beaten out of him by one guy, while Sam stood by helpless to do anything? What can he say to even begin to describe how terrible it was, or how sorry Sam is that he didn't do anything to help?

"Sammy?"

Dean's starting to freak out. Sam's silent and not looking at him, but even from this angle he can see how shiny his brother's eyes are getting. He may make fun of Sam for being the girl in the family but Sam's still a Winchester through and through, and it takes a lot to get the waterworks going. Dread curls up in Dean's stomach.

"You were hustling pool, everything was going fine," Sam says, "I don't know what happened but something pissed off the mark. He broke a bottle and was ready to use you as a pin cushion. That's when I jumped in."

Sam pauses and Dean can see him working through the memories, playing them out in his head like a movie reel.

"And?"

Sam shrugs, "Bartender busted out the 12 gauge, we left."

"That doesn't sound like the beat down of the century to me."

"The guys you were hustling followed us out," Sam stops and smiles ruefully as he shakes his head, "We made it all the way to the car. Hell, I was_ in_ the car. One more minute and we would've been home free."

Sam stops talking and Dean forces himself to let Sam do this at his own pace. He wants to know what the hell happened _now _but something about this really got under his brother's skin, which means he just needs to sit tight for the moment.

"There were three of them. One pulled me out of the car and I guess the other two were distracting you, I don't really know. By the time they had me out of the car you were already fighting the leader. Cops said his name's Randy. Anyway, he uh, tackled you, you went down pretty hard," Sam swallows and his eyes get a bit brighter, "Then he just started hitting you and he didn't stop."

Dean processes that for a minute. "How'd we get out?"

"The bartender. He shot off the 12 gauge, scared em' off. He called 911."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

Dean looks annoyed and concerned in a way that only a big brother can. Sam's seen the expression a thousand times before and it never bodes well for him.

"Where were you when I was getting my ass handed to me?"

There's no accusation or implication in the question, only worry and genuine curiosity. It still steals the breath right out of Sam, filling him with shame and guilt and panic.

"After they backhanded me they just…pinned me. That's all," Sam murmurs and gives a half shrug, "I'm fine."

Dean's eyes are boring holes through him, Sam can feel it. He knows from years of experience that it's the stare Dean gives when he's figuring something out – pursed lips, squinted eyes, tense jaw. He also knows it's only a matter of time before he puts it together and suddenly, Sam just wants to bolt.

"They made you watch, didn't they?"

Breathing suddenly seems harder than it should be and tears sting at the back of Sam's eyes, "It was kind of hard to miss."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

Sam shrugs again, looking anywhere but at Dean.

"Sam…"

"You should get more rest. You were really hurt," Sam says as he stands up, still not meeting Dean's eyes, "I'm going to try calling dad again. He should know you're awake."

"Sammy wait, damnit…"

But Sam's already out the door.

* * *

"This is John Winchester, leave a message."

Beep.

Sam holds back a scream of rage as his dad's gruff voice echoes back to him, and he grits his teeth until his jaw hurts.

"Dad. I don't know where the hell you are or why you can't find two god damn minutes to call me back, but I thought you'd like to know that Dean's awake. The cops are asking questions and the insurance isn't going to hold, so we're not staying here more than another day. Between the 5-0 and the guys who jumped us, we can't stay in town any longer than that. We'll head north. Call if you find enough time to give a damn."

It takes every bit of restraint Sam has not to hurl his phone at the hospital wall. He's not mad at his dad, not really (ok, maybe a little) but he _is_ furious with himself, and scared as hell that the reason his dad isn't answering is because the hunt went fatally wrong. And Sam just can't deal with that right now.

He sinks into one of the waiting room chairs and cradles his head in his hands. He figures it won't take long for Dean to fall back asleep, so all he has to do is wait him out. He knows it's not fair to Dean and it's plain cowardice, but he just can't face Dean right now and talk about what it was like watching his brother get beaten. He can't face Dean knowing he let him down in the worst way.

Sam sighs and looks at his watch. It's been fifteen minutes since he left Dean's room. He hopes it's been enough time and that Dean's dozed off again. He walks back to the room and peers in through the door's window. Dean's out again, breathing deeply and peaceful. Sam hates how relieved he feels.

He walks back in and takes up his seat next to Dean's bed again, the same seat he's been planted in for the past two and a half days. Twelve more hours won't kill him.


End file.
